chardaearchive

[chardaearchive]

The mistress of the manor led me up a grand staircase that wound around a beautifully crafted pillar, both of which seemed to go on forever.

“My father built this staircase for my mother,” the older woman started. She held the railing delicately as she spoke, regarding it awingly as if for the very first time. She seemed lost in thought as she gained the stairs, but her footing maintained its rhythm such that, despite her beautiful yet dramatically long dress, it held a swiftness that was difficult to match.

My eyes became glued to the steps, timing my footwork carefully, only to move when the blood red fabric carried by her poised frame allowed the steps to be visible to me.

“That was awfully nice of him,” I responded thoughtlessly, immersed in the cycle of burgundy fabric sliding against the carpeted steps, trying my best to make out the design colored into the cushion beneath me.

“What makes you say that?” The Mistress asked, stopping dead in her tracks.

My steps faltered, and by the grace of God, I narrowly evaded walking square into her wiry frame. I let out a small gasp in shock, looking up at her on the stairs. She was beautiful in a haunting way, her black hair braided into a serpent-like fishtail that spanned the nape of her neck and hung well over her shoulder. The dress she wore had a square cut, and the neckline was hemmed in gold, the openings of her sleeves were as well. In some ways, the gold clashed with her ghostly pale skin, but the contrast of the deep crimson of her dress somehow brought it all together.

In her older age, she had become a small woman, but I knew from her stance as well as her refusal to turn to me after her question that I should not question her power.

“What makes me say that? Well, I just thought that it was kind is all… to build such a long staircase to lead to her beauty room? Did you say it was?” I responded dumbly, cursing the way I stumbled over my own words when asked to speak extemporaneously.

“Hm.” She hummed, resuming her athletic pace once more.

“My father hated my mother, and he used this staircase to prove it.”

She spoke the words so quietly that I almost missed them. Her voice seemed far too small to speak the swell of words in such a way that I felt embarrassed for bringing up such a sore topic. With that, we carried on in silence, accompanied only by the sounds of the light panting of our shared breaths. The stairs seemed to never end, and the lack of windows only made our journey more ambiguous.

“Was it nice growing up in the manor?” I asked, hoping to start up a conversation that might make the time move faster. The Mistress rounded the corner with a chuckle that almost sounded cruel. “As a little girl, I prayed for the day I would leave this dreary old manor.” Her voice sounded fond.

As I rounded the corner, I caught a glimpse of a smile on the side of her face. This image was short-lived as once again I was met with the back of her head, trying to ignore the prickly way my skin felt when staring too long at the texture of her onyx braid.

“Now that I am older, I can’t imagine how I could ever leave. Soon, I hope you will share the same sentiment.” She said, tossing me a smile over her right shoulder.

I tried to smile back, but couldn’t seem to manage, so instead I dropped my gaze back to the green and brown carpet. The more we walked together, the less worn the carpet became, and soon I was able to make out that the brown shapes were in fact owls with wide black eyes, similar to the one that adorned the manor's front gates.

“Did your parents like owls?” I asked, feeling especially curious at the coincidence.

“My father did, he’d had a pet owl as a child, named after the Aztec God Mictlantecuhtli, who’d had his own pet owl. My mother, on the other hand, hated them; she was ever-so superstitious and saw them as harbingers of death.” The Mistress said matter-of-factly.

“And what about you, Mistress?” I pried further, taking advantage of how forthcoming she had been.

“I know that often times death comes without a harbinger, and for that I have no need to fear the owl.”

Her response sent a chill down my spine and left me in an uneasy mood. Peeling my eyes away from the now eerie carpet, I glanced ahead of the mistress noticing with joy the flat platform not too far ahead. My legs ached climbing the last few steps, I swore that my first step after making it to my room would be a long soak in the tub.

When I told my step-mother that I wanted to take up a career as a writer instead of attending college, I never expected her to send me here of all places. She said it would be good for me to gather my thoughts, but I couldn’t seem to understand how such a long climb could help me with that.

The staircase led to a shadowy hall, and I hesitated to follow the Mistress down it, but taking one glance down at the massive rope-like structure of stairs that seemed to trail as far as the eye could see, I decided to take my chances with the hall.

The mistress dug into her dress's pocket and found a match which she used to light a lantern in the hallways' midpoint. As the small flame grew, I was able to see a plain wooden door with a golden doorknob that was plaited with the face of an owl. “I thought you said this was your mother's room?” I said, slightly uncomfortable with the way the emboldened black eyes of the owl stared back at me.

“Darling, it is.” Stated the Mistress pleasantly, as she moved to open the door.

The door opened with an ear-splitting creak that shed light on a small vanity directly in front of the door. We could see ourselves in its cloudy mirror. The Mistress smiled, motioning for me to enter the room first. Looking at her sheepishly, I swallowed before taking my first steps. I half expected her mother to be lying in the bed waiting for me, surrounded by cobwebs and half rotten. But instead, the room was clean. The walls were a greasy white color that seemed to become yellow with age. To the right of the vanity was a small door that was boarded up and a regular-sized one that was untouched. On the back wall there was a window and next to it a large wardrobe. The room held a full-sized bed, and on either side were wooden night tables, each had three drawers. Despite its ancient look, the room smelled of bleach and a lemony chemical, and the sheets looked clean and ready to lie on.

I turned to the Mistress with a smile, assuring her that the living arrangements met my standards. She smiled back brightly in a way that looked like it hurt her to do so, then she pointed to the larger door.

“Through here is the bathroom, the tub is spacious and the sink drawers should have enough storage for your toiletries.” She said simply, then began to gesture to the wardrobe.

“I hope the drawers near the bed are enough for your luggage, it doesn’t seem like you have much, but sadly, the wardrobe is out of use. For the life of me I can never understand why my mother might have glued it shut.” She tisked and shook her head at this fact.

Suddenly, as if she’d just remembered something important, her face lit up and she wagged a finger at me with a knowing smile, then she turned from me to grab the door to close us into the room.

The slamming sound the door made startled me, but my nerves eased as she pointed to the reason she’d closed the door. A small silver bell with a string attached to it hung near the door frame.

“We have this here so you won’t have to run up and down the steps to get anything. This is connected to the maid's quarters, and when you ring it, one will be sure to come up and help you.”

I sighed in relief. Perfect. I couldn’t imagine journeying those stairs at night for a cup of water.

I grabbed the Mistress's hand in my own, “Thank you so much for your help and you letting me stay here for the summer. I promise I won’t be any trouble.”

“My pleasure, dearest.” She said, rubbing her thumb over the back of my hand, before dropping my hands and wiping her own against her dress briskly.

“Now, I will leave you to it and allow you to unpack and get some rest.” She spoke tightly and left the room in a wave of burgundy and black, the handle of the door clicking in place behind her.

I stared at the door a few seconds after her exit, still affected by the owl that stared back at me.

Brushing away my nerves, I settled with them just being first-day jitters and busied myself with unpacking, wiping down that dusty mirror, and drawing myself a bath that had a temperature to match hell.

The Mistress was right, the bath was spacious, my clothes did fit in the bedside drawers, and there was just enough space for my toiletries. As I lay in bed that night I smiled at how the silver bell glistened in the moonlight, pleased with the idea of having maids to wait on me hand and foot. My stepmother and I had not had the best of relationships, but I would be sure to thank her for such a luxurious summer.

[chardaearchive]

A Bad Good Dream

The middle of the sky was a delicate and deceitful shade of dusty rose; the clouds sat calmly at the heart of its vibrance. A deep cerulean blanket enveloped tones of orange and gold. I knew I was beholding one of God’s most prized possessions. The moment felt spiritual as if I alone stood at the center of the universe. Within this hushed moment, I became a peninsula bordered by this ocean of peace. This place was a sacred oasis in the turbulent desert of life. The trees swayed in satisfaction, enjoying the tranquil vibrations of the breeze. Rays of sunset bathed each leaf in individual spotlights, causing them almost to glow as they moved. Little waves rippled into large spears as I wiggled my toes in the pond water. The lily pads stumbled over each other, their tranquility became gently disturbed by my movements. Lillies sat prettily against the saucer-sized leaves. I’d seen somewhere that underneath the lilypads there were stem-like structures that made me want to gag when I saw them. I did not dare to flip them over and desecrate the beautiful bliss of ignorance. 

The rocks near the pond were smooth, making them appear soft like clouds that somehow floated in the water instead of the sky. I stood with a slight wobble, drying my bare feet in the grass as I walked over to the rocks. Bits of dirt and grass clung to my feet and the back of my nightgown had grass stains on it from where I sat. None of this bothered me as I glided towards my target, swaying my hips playfully with each step. There was a deliriously playful aura surrounding the pond, crossing the grass felt like sneaking up on a friend ready to spook them. As I crept towards the rocks I prepared my legs to leap from the squish of grass and dirt and land safely poised upon the sturdy mineral surface. As my feet left the ground and my body lunged through the air I watched in horror as my enchanting place of peace grew darker. My feet hit the rock's hard surface and I gasped, suddenly noticing the jagged edges that poked from its form. The sensitive skin of my foot broke abruptly as thunder crackled above me. Rain fell almost instantly, and hard warm balls of water began pelting me as I clutched my bleeding foot. 

My nightgown clung to my form desperately and my eyes grew wild with terror. Lightning burst from the sky in sync with the roaring thunder. The trees whipped back and forth with the wind which continued to change the pattern of the rain. Fear claimed me without warning and I became frantic with distress. What was once a place of peace now felt like a tumultuous cage, Mother Nature’s sheer rage showed me the depth of life’s torment. My skin grew cold with terror and the rain temperature was unforgiving, the wet cloth clung to me heavily weighing me down and keeping me plastered to the cursed rocks. I opened my mouth to scream with thunder as my rival. My heart pounded with an intensity that I could feel in my neck and ears, prayer felt like the only solution. In an instant, my body began to boil and the skin covering my muscles began to melt away. Brown liquid trailed from pink and red flesh in dribbles that mirrored raindrops. All that I could see was a mask of white light as lightning consumed my shivering frame. Death by electrocution. 

[chardaearchive]

Shadows of Redemption Short Story By Chardae Hilson

6. Kairos 

It felt like the walls had eyes that were burning holes into her skin at various angles through-out the day. She could feel them move over her body the same way the doctor’s did, her reactions were being gauged. Her paranoid mind jumped between a multitude of scenarios to explain the feeling of eyes. She’d stopped telling the doctor about the odd occurrences in her room, the more they continued the more she enjoyed them. This was a place where joy became extinguished and she refused to return back to her usual suffering by revealing what she experienced. Instead Kairos continued her appointments like normal, feeding the doctor lies about progress and medicines working. Beneath her cot amassed hundreds of tiny pills of varying colors, she hid them in her gums beneath her large lips that way when she lifted her tongue they found nothing. Kairos was good at hiding things and avoiding “help.”

There was a level of trust Kairos knew she could never have with another human, not that she wanted to anyway. She would never trust taking their pills or talking to their doctors, there was nothing wrong with her. Kairos was not insane, she was simply a victim to many of life's evils. To name a few, she was a victim of abuse, molestation, the legal system, and now this facility. They held her hostage, starved her, and froze her nearly to death but expected her trust. If she could, Kairos would spit in the face of the doctor and tell him to eat shit. She couldn’t though, not without consequences, and so she didn’t. Instead she did things like debate with herself on if she imagined the changes in her room or the eyes following her.

At this point she had narrowed things down to three possibilities: a ghost, a hidden camera, and her own insanity. She easily scrapped the idea of a hidden camera, the eyes she felt often shifted positions, a hidden camera couldn’t do that. She bit her nails as she thought, sometimes the eyes felt like multiple, camera’s don’t do that. 

Alright so it’s not a camera, it was made up in her mind that the only two other possibilities were that of a ghost or that all this was simply a reflection of her own declining mental health. 

“Fuck!” She cursed, slamming a fist into the cot beneath her. The shitty mattress had grown softer by the day, so much so that her fist did not even meet the metal beneath it. She felt no pain at the force of her hit and barely any sound came as a result of it, this only pissed her off more. 

“Ugh!” Kairos screamed, pulling at her hair as the sound rolled out of her chest.

She felt frantic, she felt trapped, and most of all she felt confused. Tears welled in her eyes as she pulled harder at her curls, slowly she began to heave. The breaths of air she tried to take began to allude her, as her heaving became more intense. Her tears escaped in hurds and her breaths ran from her, the feeling of entrapment consumed her. She felt herself falling, spiraling into a wave of emotions she was sure would drown her.

“Stop!” Commanded a voice from the shadows, and her anxiety quickly dissipated.

[chardaearchive]

Shadows of Redemption Short Story by Chardae Hilson

5. Yamar

It had been days since he left her side. Kairos is what they called her here at the facility. He’d followed her everywhere for a week, sitting in at each therapy session, listening at the door of each bathroom break, and lastly he stayed relighting her flame every night as needed. So far he knew little about her, she had no family and was sent here by the state. A myriad of foster families left her clinically insane, there was little documentation on why other than her attempt at murdering one of the families father. To Yamar, she did not seem murderous, on the contrary she seemed quite the opposite. The girl lived like prey, constantly on edge and always in fear of what was to come next.

Yamar hated the way her fear smelled but somehow loved the angry look that lay permanently fixed on her face. Kairos was filled with hate and rage, he could tell by the clench of her fists and teeth and the way she strode stiffly through the halls. Despite how humiliating her circumstances were, Yamar could sense her pride and it made him admire her all the more. In another life, he was sure she would have made a worthy demon. All highborn demons were known for their pride and their rage. Though he may never admit it aloud, Yamar loved Kairos in the way that an owner loved a pet. She was like a little rabbit in a cage and caring for her brought him great comfort. As Maize had stated before, what could go wrong if they were the only two aware of her existence.

“ I’m convinced I’ve lost the last of my damn mind. “ The girl finally spoke, her voice soft yet rough with the subtle lilt of a Chicago accent. 

Yamar chuckled to himself as the girl dragged her hands down her own face in exasperation. For days he lit her a small fire, keeping her warm and despite her confusion he knew she loved it. As his feelings for her grew he couldn’t help but leave her other gifts to ease her pain. He increased the flavors of her meals, the softness of her bed, and the thickness of her blanket. In the span of thirteen days he had increased her health and quality of life immensely. Somehow the smell of suffering still persisted. Yamar laughed to himself as she complained. This process had become a game to him, making subtle changes to her life in an attempt to rid himself of that rancid smell but still it persisted. In all his years Yamar had never tasked himself with the concept of human enjoyment. The act itself was forbidden and had never interested him before, but now it seemed to be the only thing worth doing.

Her existence had changed him so much already.

“Aha!” Laughed an all too familiar voice, Yamar turned to take in the fiery form that was Maize. 

A knowing smile adorned their face, Yamar warmed with embarrassment. 

“I knew I’d find you here, I see you’ve cleaned up the place a bit. The smell isn’t nearly as foul as before. Good for you.” They clapped Yamar on the back warmly, a proud look on their face. 

Yamar kept his eyes low, flustered by the way Maize always saw right through him, still not used to it after all these years. Anything he tried to hide, Maize always sniffed out with the ease of a well-aged hound dog. It was at times infuriating but also a source of comfort as Yamar was not always good with words.

“ I really should stop this before it goes too far.” Yamar stated, his eyes void of emotion and his mouth set in a line. 

His heart tugged at the thought of abandoning Kairos, but he knew it was wrong. He turned to leave before Maize stopped him with a question, “Why’s that?”

Maize wore their usual smile, eyes filled with amusement. To them life was a game, this was a result of their privilege and their demonic pride. At times it was infuriating for Yamar to witness and at other times it was a great inspiration. Deep down Yamar envied the sheer faith Maize had in themself and others. Yamar needed more of that for himself, he sighed then. 

“What would you suggest I do then, with this mess I’ve created.” 

Maize laughed at this and responded smoothly, “ Nothing.”

Yamar stood shocked, his mouth fell and his eyebrows met in confusion. “You suggest I do nothing? What good would that do?”

Maize threw their head back in laughter again, “No good at all, and that’s the point! We’re demons. Live a little. “ Maize shrugged their shoulders as if they had solved all issues in existence with the simplest of ease. “What’s the point of immortality and excessive power if you never bend the rules. C’mon Yammy, don’t be so stiff.”

They pushed Yamars shoulder in jest, sending him a light-hearted smile. Yamar remained frozen in indecision, this caused Maize’s eyes and voice to soften. “ Yammy, really.. Just relax. No one will ever find out, I’ll make sure of it. Though I don’t understand what compels you about this disgusting smelling girl, you are like family to me. If this is what you want, I will do everything in my power to support you. You’re allowed to have fun sometimes, especially when it’s against the rules. “ With that Maize gave Yamar’s shoulder a final squeeze before exiting the room, they knew their friend well enough to know he needed time to himself to sit with their words.

[chardaearchive]

Shadows of Redemption Short Story BY Chardae Hilson

4. Maize

“Okay, you were right. The bitch stinks, now what?”

Their hip jutted out as they stood, hand over their mouth and nose in pure disgust. Maize had been Yamar’s closest friend since their spawning. Maize was a demon of higher class and in turn higher ranking but somehow Yamar still felt like their older brother. While Yamar was logical and calculated, Maize was hot-tempered and impulsive. Despite their differences, Maize and Yamar just worked. Over the years they remained thick as thieves and were often each other's closest confidant. It made sense that Yamar came to them first to discuss his latest finding. So far Maize was disgusted but unamused by the girl and also by the asylum. Yamar always liked the darker side of things, he was what one might consider a true demon. Maize was more rebellious and soft-hearted. Their stomach was too weak for gore and ugliness, they preferred pretty things and sunlight to Yamar’s penchant for the creepier side of things.

Although the girl was a wonder, Maize was more concerned about transporting out of this old and decrepit building and going somewhere more aesthetically pleasing. Sensing this, Yamar rolled his eyes at them.

“Don’t you want to know WHY she smells like that? Isn’t this at least a little bit strange to you?” Yamar sounded exasperated as he spoke, his voice bellowed in the room though the human could not hear them. 

Maize sighed, deciding to humor their friend with a response. “Yes, to some this could be considered an entertaining er—... phenomena?” Their words trailed off as they turned to face the girl, mouth closing as to not consume even more of the god-awful rotten smell she exuded.

As maize began to study the girl, they both sat in silence watching her shiver. She laid on a metal slab, only covered by what looked like a cot and a thin blanket thrown over her body. The girl’s teeth chattered and her jaw was set tight with fury as she stared blankly into the darkness. Fear wafted off her body in huge waves but by her face one could only see anger. She was interesting, but her smell was something Maize could only endure for so long.

“Is this smell her suffering? It’s all rotted and it’s making the air in here so thick..if you don’t stop it I will.” Maize punctuated their sentence with a twist of their hand, before Yamar could stop them they had created a small fire in the corner of the room. Despite its size it warmed the room in almost an instant, the smell began to dissipate along with the cold. The girl’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion but her body became lax in the heat. 

Maize turned to Yamar, sporting a triumphant smile, “There, all better” they said, clapping a hand on their  friend's shoulder. “Now we can go home—” Maize turned to walk into their portal and effectively transport themselves and their friend home, only to be met with a vice-like grip on their arm. Turning in confusion, Maize found themself met with a cool stare from Yamar. 

“Wait,” he said. “Do you know what this means? You helping her? C’mon Maize even you know that’s against the rules.”

Maize sighed, taking his hand and removing Yamar’s grip. “Yammy please, you must know me better than that, after all these years. What to a demon, is a rule? Something we gladly break and discard. “ They spoke calmly, eyes closed to portray peace, only opening one into a wink. Maize stuck their tongue out in jest, “Besides, “ they said. “The only ones who know are us, let's just keep it that way.” With this Maize stepped away from their friend, turning to step once again into their portal. Despite the genuine nature of their friendship, Maize was of higher ranking and their word was meant to be followed by all beneath them, including Yamar.

Problem solved, Maize thought.

If only it were that simple to Yamar.

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[chardaearchive]

Shadows of Redemption Short Story By Chardae Hilson

3. Yamar

He was a demon of many names, an angel to Earth’s most wretched and a powerful evil to its most protected. Yamar was short and of even build, his skin was like burnt honey and his eyes were nearly black, like that of a shark. He wore his hair short, in tight curls as this was most suited for the heat that they endured. He was a low-ranking demon, tasked with causing pain through illness within the human populace. Yamar preferred mental over physical pain, all demons were incredibly strong compared to humans, brawn was nothing special in his eyes. Any demon could break the bones of a human but few could break their minds in the ways that Yamar was capable, the pain he caused empowered him. Demons controlled their life-spans by feeding on the suffering of humans, there were few rules for demons other than not to bring joy to any human under any circumstance. Few demons followed any rules at all but this one was commonplace, most demons saw humans like food and thought them lesser. 

Yamar had no opinion on humans, he found them interesting like puzzles. It brought him great joy to see how each one ticked. Over the years, Yamar had driven his fair share of humans to insanity, so much so that he rarely thought of aging or maintaining his lifespan—this was something he’d done for sport. Each year dragged on and each human remained the same, common fears, common weakness. Yamar began to tire of the common. Lately he found entertainment through viewing the suffering humans created for each other, asylums and hospitals intrigued him most. On a typical day Yamar traveled through shadows, slinking around the halls of each facility, snacking on the pain that oozed from each patients tortured souls. 

It was fun.

Each human’s pain tasted different and felt different when he consumed them. Some felt smokey, some felt warm and sweet, Yamar had yet to taste a pain he hadn’t enjoyed. What he most enjoyed was the smell of pain, animals in the human world were able to sense it as well. Pain was a universal language that all beings conveyed, it wasn’t unheard of for some demons to even partake in the pain of animals. Yamar’s best friend Maize would always drag on on the delectable pain of whales, he would never voice this aloud but to Yamar, the ocean was sacred and should not be fed from. 

Everyone had their vices though, and the weak were his.

Today’s source of entertainment was new but exciting, the asylum was filled with rust and mold and misery. He loved the way it smelled. Yamar’s sharp white teeth were nearly bursting from his mouth with sheer joy and excitement. Poorly kept institutions for the mentally deranged always had the most unique methods of torture and entrapment, it was a wonder why humans loved to make eachother miserable as they did not gain from it as much as demons did. As Yamar walked he followed the sweet and inviting smells of trauma and fear, glancing into each room to see what miserable captive lay beyond each door. The deeper he crept into the hall of the fourth floor he began to smell something foul. His nose was slim but flat, yet it still wrinkled when assaulted by the smell, so much so that he raised a hand to cover it. Yamar had never smelled something so putrid, even human happiness had a far more pleasant scent than this.

Despite his disdain, Yamar’s curiosity held the best of him and so he followed it. The scent became stronger as he crept closer, his feet soundless on the dirty tiles beneath them. He began to gag for the first time in his existence as he finally met the door of the assailant. Where he expected to find a person so disgustingly happy and at peace, his eyes were met with a girl frozen in fear. His hand dropped and his eyes widened to the size of plates, the shock led him to his layer in an instant. (add more description of teleportation) His heart pounded as he hit the cool marble floor of his kitchen, his eyes searched the room for any visitor who might laugh at the sight of him. Doing so caused him to laugh at himself, he brought his hand up to rub against his hair as his laughs echoed through the room. The sheer loudness in the usually silent room only caused him to laugh harder.

What was she?

As he came down from the initial shock, Yamar stood and walked thoughtlessly into his bathroom. He washed his face and prepared for bed as he normally would, but his mind could not rest as it was riddled with images of the frightened girl.

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alot of the upcoming chapter's are still being edited, a few notes are attached. I would love to see what you guys think about my writing and where the story should go next.

as always please do not copy or redistribute my work.

[chardaearchive]

Shadows of Redemption Short Story By Chardae Hilson

2. Kairos

This room resembled a jail cell, brick walls with peeling paint that held a single window. The window itself  was small in size, something the shoulders of a man could not fit through, it was adorned with thick metal bars that rusted at each end. Despite her above average stature, Kairos herself could not dream of reaching the bars. Her mattress sat on a metal plate on the side of the room, the metal jutted out from the wall like a shelf it kept her thin and aging mattress cool. Her room was always cold, as was every room in the facility, if she blew out she’d see her breath. Her lips remained chapped and her skin was gray with ash caused by the cold air. Kairos spent the better parts of her days entrapped in this frigid hell, she’d become numb to the cold but remained terrified in the dark.

Each night the fluorescent lights would shut off and the shadows in her room would begin to creep towards her, morphing into living nightmares. The scenes before her were like a car crash, so terrifying that she could not force her eyes to look away, and so she didn’t. Sleep deprivation became a lifestyle here, the facility’s directors knew of her fear of the dark but assumed this treatment would help. At least that is what they told her the first few months when she had begged every morning to keep her lights on at night, the begging had only added to her misery and humiliation. Kairo's only solstice came in the wee hours of the morning, when the sun touched the horizon and sent droplets of light through the bars of her cage. In these early hours she rested until the guards came, then she forced herself up and trailed them into the facilities cafeteria.

Kairos was certain the months of missed sleep were starting to get to her, at nights the shadows stopped morphing into creatures and instead turned into a cloud of unmoving smoke. The cloud surrounded a small light, like a tiny fire where the corner of two walls met. For some reason the smoke didn’t hurt her lungs but still it worried her, and despite its diminutive size this small flame seemed to warm the entire room. Kairos wondered if her mind was playing tricks on her or if the God’s had heard her cries for death and given her solace through this small and illogical flame. Whatever it was, Kairos’s mind did not dwell on it for long as sleep became warm and inviting. The peace of unconsciousness welcomed her, enveloping her small frame until the last pieces of her mind drifted away.

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Let me know what you guys think of the story so far, I am still making edits and adding things but I would love to hear suggestions. As always, do not copy or redistribute my work in anyway.

[chardaearchive]

Shadows of Redemption Short Story By Chardae Hilson

The Doctor

“There was the smell of wood burning, in an eerie way like a forest fire, not as a comfort like a fireplace.” She stared out of the window as she spoke, arms slender and gray as they wrapped around her wiry body, like the vines of an ever-aging tree. 

I could not help but to peer gently at the young lady before me, all of twenty-one and so obviously on the brink of insanity. I had worked five long and strenuous years, numbing my mind with copious amounts of coffee and my own cocktail of antidepressants, antipsychotics, and anti-whatever-else-that-kept-me-up-so-late-at-night. Most of my patients were just like her, Kairo. They all shared the same dead in the eyes look, like an animal caught in the headlights of a semi-truck or a lamb who somehow knew he was up next for the slaughter. Despite this fact, Kairos was an interesting case— she was a young african-american girl with skin like chestnuts or really tree bark, as Kairos had scars all over her body. Typically, she hid them well with baggy clothes and her usually guarded stance but me and her had developed such a level of trust that she showed me them. To the outside eye she looked as if she would disappear if you came too close, so no one here ever did.

Kairos was a patient in our sexual assault unit, as a victim of the foster care system, she endured the worst kinds of sexual abuse. Her main coping mechanism had been self mutilation, Kairos was sure that if she made her body disgusting enough to the eyes of the world she would never be touched again. At a younger age a case like hers would have brought me to tears, today it was as normal as breakfast. Kairos sat ten feet away from me during every session, any closer and she would fall into a full blown panic attack, gasping for air as if my presence alone took up far too much of her own breathing material. For this reason I kept my distance, I sat stiffly at my desk and when the doors opened I allowed her to saunter to her corner of the room. Her seat remained darkly shadowed, just how she liked it. Next, the girl would almost slither into her seat, curling her body into the smallest ball of a position, and only then—once her limbs were held tight in her own arms would she begin to speak.

Lately our sessions focussed on her dreams.

“And where was the fire coming from?” I asked, pushing my glasses more firmly onto the lack of bridge to my nose. My black eyes squinting in confusion at the vague nature of her descriptions, the girl had a habit of saying a lot yet saying so little.

She seemed not to like this response as her face crinkled up and her eyebrows furrowed as if I had said the most mind-numbingly idiotic thing that I could possibly think of. The girl grunted in frustration, reaching up to pull at the roots of her afro as she spoke. “I never said it was a fire, I said I could smell wood burning.”

And so she was right, how could I have missed such a thoroughly expressed detail.

 “My apologies Kairos, I meant to ask where the smell of firewood came from.” I smiled sheepishly in a feigned apology but I could tell she hadn’t missed the bite behind my words. 

Her eyes rolled but remained taped to the window, she began to rock with her words as she spoke to me again. “The smell was coming from my wardrobe..I could even see the flames crackle through the crack of the door, I know I wasn’t dreaming!” This time she slammed her hand flat against the glass, startling us both at the sheer force of it. The sound echoed in the room so loud that the door flew open and the guard outside rushed in ready to deescalate an altercation between us. The short, mostly balding asian man could only be described as puzzled when he found us sat just as shocked in our own seats.

“My apologies, sir.” The man murmured with an awkward cough, before scurrying out of the room. As the door closed I turned my eyes back to Kairos, we fixed each other with stiffened glares and this time I rolled my eyes at her. I scrawled my usual notes into my notepad and called the guard to discharge her as I prepared for my next patient.

[chardaearchive]

Chronicles of A Moving Target

thoughts of you become the genesis

of a war in my mind.

impetus feelings fester

spreading like burn holes in decaying flesh,

pristine white marks the site of the assault.

midnight suspicions turned premonition

in the light of day.

insecurities adorn the pulpit

selling sermons of betrayal and liaison.

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this poem is a hymn of overthinking. hope this puts into words what us overthinkers experience in feelings. let me know what you think, also please do not redistribute my work in anyway, thank you.

[chardaearchive]

chewing gum

stuck on you

like chewing gum

on table bottoms,

engrave you in my heart

to never be forgotten

i feel love

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another unfinished poem, this time it's more light-hearted; exploring the childish fun of having a crush. I'd love to know what you guys think and as always please do not redistribute or copy my writing in anyway without my consent.

[chardaearchive]

words that wound

Verbal lashings stain like red whine on pristine surfaces,

painting pictures of perfection, those tarnishing pigments

portray the color of abuse,

highlighting the errant nature of deception,

here lies the entity that toys with damnation.

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this poem is only a glimpse of the lasting pain of verbal abuse, it is still unfinished. I'd love to know what you guys think.

as always, do not copy or redistribute this writing in anyway without my written conset.

[chardaearchive]

The Soul of the Earth by Chardae Hilson

Rain drops fall like petals of moonstone,

their cyclindrical shape cannot help but to combust,

losing all form at its meeting with the windows sill.

The trip down blurred glass is almost whimsical,

melancholy in its melding nature.

To dissemble and form again into something bigger, more whole, and entirely more mobile,

again, and again, and again.

The fluidity of water is awe inspiring,

the constant cycle of falling and moving,

becoming undone just to become done again,

It is a marvel to know

that this same water touched the skin and the lives of those from worlds before.

To be touched by water is to be touched by God

and to experience the soul of the Earth.

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This poem was created after a particularly meaningful day sitting on the rocks and staring into the depths of lake Michigan. As always, this content is only for the purpose of your reading enjoyment as well as the portrayal of my skill as a writer. Do not reproduce or repurpose under any circumstances.

Best,

Char

[chardaearchive]

A Sky Altered by Absence

these can't be the same stars that lit up the the sky on nights we laid together,

it used to be enough to know that we still see the same sunsets

your absence is the weight that keeps my lungs from expanding

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this poem is not to be copied, recreated, or repurposed in ANY way without my consent.

[chardaearchive]

Untitled

When the last light peaks at the grave of the horizon, and reality becomes unmasked by the suns glare,

the last bodies lay to rest,

buried in sacramental ceremony,

the tenebrosity of waning hours inspire acquiescence

light fragments turn to shadows in sprinkles

the night devours all in its path,

Nothingness.

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this poem is written and edited by Chardae Hilson, this content should not be edited, copied, or redistributed without my written consent. If you reblog, thank you but PLEASE give me all credit.